#so you seldom manage to hold on to them for long

[canisalbus]

Vasco makes me so happy c': his soft eyes, warm tones and just everything about him makes me feel so warm UGH. And I adore his clothing style too. He just seems like such a sweet lad oh my! Thank you for sharing your beautiful characters with us <33

Thank you! I'm glad he brightens your days! ;_;

I keep thinking how doglike he is in the way he acts. He's excitable, emotional, humorous and has a certain freeness to him. He may get sad or angry occasionally but bounces back quickly. He's friendly to everyone unless given a good reason not to. He loves his favorite people fiercely and unconditionally.

[etheries1015]

Bestie yk that Yuu begins their friendship with Malmal because sir was roaming around old buildings right? Imagine Yuu starting a friendship with Malmal simply because of boredom. Class was soooo boring so Yuu decided to just chat with the person near them, which was Malleus.

You don't care if he's the next king of Briar Valley, if you're bored then entertainment is THE priority.

YES I LOVE THIS OSDLFSHEESFLS what better entertainment than the Fae prince himself?

Imagine You, sitting at your desk listening to another long and strenuous lecture that had not managed to keep your attention, doodling not even being able to satiate your boredem. So, what's the next best thing? Bother your deskmate, of course. You noticed him a few times; a rather tall fellow with long black horns and eyes as captivating as pure emeralds and ears pointed unlike a typical human. You always thought perhaps he had an affinity for theatrics- the way he seldom spoke up. At times you thought he hadn't even been a student at the school- the teachers never seemed to call his name during roll call (Of course it was because everybody already knew the esteemed prince of the land of faeries.) You know what they say, right? Always befriend and be nice to the quiet kid in school. So, out of boredom and curiosity, You tapped his shoulder.

"Hey," You whispered, The tall man with pointed ears started at the sudden contact before turning his head to look at you peculiarly. Without as much as an answer, you began to ask your question.

"Are those real? Your horns?" He seemed to pout at this only for a split second before confusion and offense seemed to mix into his (rather beautiful) features. He tilted his head before seemingly deciding on something in his mind, leaning over to take another look at you.

"Is that a genuine question, child of man? Are you, what they say, 'pulling my leg'?" He asked. You almost laughed at loud at the pompous way of speech he took on, and immediately knew you would be thoroughly entertained by this man. You found it...almost incredibly attractive, the way his silky deep voice spoke in a victorian royalty kind of way. You let out a quiet chuckle and with a raised eyebrow you leaned against your desk with a hand propping up your head as your elbow lay firm against the wood.

"Well, as far as I'm aware I'm as genuine as one can be," You smiled, "I'm (y/n), what's your name?" Another question that colored him mildly bewildered yet incredibly inquisitive at your pure ignorance of who you sat next to. Malleus opened his mouth to answer, yet found himself closing it a couple times while contemplating revealing the truth. Perhaps this person was genuinely in the dark about his status and position, and he did not want to miss the chance to converse with someone who willingly wanted to hold relations with him. Thus, he bit his tongue and turned it into a game.

"My name doesn't matter," He said, "How about you choose one for me?" You raised both of your eyebrows and bit your bottom lip attempting to hold back a roar of laughter, you truly had found one interesting fellow to introduce yourself to.

"Alright...how about...hm..." You studied his person before snapping their fingers in revelation. "Hornton!" They said it almost too loud, and the professor quickly chastised them for speaking during the lecture. Malleus gave you a fond smile and nodded, turning back to the teacher resuming the boring lecture that took place.Your boredom showed no bounds, however, and you decided to hand Malleus little doodles with silly notes through the end of the period. Malleus did not reciprocate these notes, for royalty need not indulge in such silly idiocracy, yet the least he could do was appreciate your attentiveness to the prince. Once the bell rang and marked the end of the period, you collected your things and held out your hand to the tall prince.

"I decided you're my new friend! Here's to our long-lasting friendship, hornton!" Malleus's eyes widened in shock, standing and staring down at your...incredibly trusting and naïve smile before his shoulders shook in laughter. Nodding and holding his hand to reciprocate your gesture of kindness, he shook it earnestly.

"Indeed. I look forward to our...friendship." He watched as you skipped away and out of the room to your next class, Malleus gathering the silly little notes he now called his treasures and shuffling them into his pocket.

He suddenly found himself becoming excited for next day's boring lecture.

~~~~

Masterlist

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲 | 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶A deleted scene from chapter twelve where receptionist!reader acts like a bimbo in front of Eddie just to rile him up. Written very tongue-in-cheek at the beginning.✶

NSFW — sexual themes, handjob, unresolved sexual tension, 18+

↳ start the story here to catch up!

[wc: 2.1k]

Heeding your checklist of chores, you idled at the workbench against the far corner of the wall. There were a few of the usual things you organized: placing nuts and bolts in drawers, facing products with their labels out, tidying small boxes, folding the end of the paper towel roll so it didn’t unfurl itself in the turbulent path of the oscillating fan. You bent over to toss cellophane wrappers into the waste paper bin, and took your time musing if the liner should be changed despite the little amount of balled up paper weighing down the bottom. Standing, you swept off the unsanded tabletop with your hands, and worked a crusty rag over an oil streak, making a mental note to call the laundry service to swing by a day early.

As you stepped away, you knocked a pencil to the floor. Its bright yellow body was impossible to miss, along with its excruciatingly long hexagonal roll carried by your elbow to the very edge, but you managed. You knelt to your hands and knees to retrieve the writing utensil, inspecting its broken tip. The graphite was missing completely, leaving behind an empty hole where it once was. An unfortunate accident. You rotated it a few times looking for other flaws—an honorable way to spend your time.

“You doin’ this on purpose?” gruffed out an annoyed voice behind you.

No need to check, you heard the amused twist at the corner of his lips. His left canine was probably on show, too. Not in a hurry to confirm, you gripped the pencil in your fist, and leaned forward, stretching in search of the missing lead before it was stomped into dust and potentially transferred from someone’s boot sole into a wealthy client’s car. You were thinking of them, really.

The floor was a rewarding oasis in the noonday sun baking through the warehouse windows. Your flat splayed hands and knuckles worked over the grit of dirt to inch your pursuit closer to the wall, drinking in the chill of the epoxy coated concrete cooling you down better than a 50 cent clear plastic cup of Kool Aid at a kid’s misspelled lemonaide stand. Though, the unforgiving flooring bit into your joints, and indented your knees with the netting of your pantyhose. But Eddie’s study did not sway to your shoe slipping off your heel. No, he was a gentleman. And as a gentleman, he praised the wealth of curves you put on display.

He used the heels of his heavy boots to drag himself from under a Mustang, thumping up beside you, wheels on the creeper rolling along the slick floor.

The lower you dipped your chest, the higher your skirt hem tickled the back of your thighs. In total innocence—truly giving your best effort to find the missing pencil tip—you tilted your hips to unimaginable degrees, presenting your ass to the point even your lower back side-eyed your act.

Smooth backs of fingers lifted the hem more. Eddie curled his index under your skirt, and assisted it to the crease of your cheek, following the change in nylon with his rough thumbprint as it wove denser around your thighs to hold you in. Tummy Control, it was advertised as. To a man who had seldom encounters with women, this meant very little to him, as did the change in texture. Though, curiously, he rubbed at it with interest.

“You’re something else, you know that?” But his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise. “I’m out here working my ass off, and you’re struttin’ around the garage in this lil’ piece.” The little piece in question was your corporate approved pencil skirt from a long forgotten temp job when your apartment lost two roommates in a breakup, and rent was past due.

Pandering to your audience of one, you shuffled two of the tiniest inches backwards, and steadied your hand on his outstretched leg. You bent at the hips, filling his large palm with a handful of your ass, and he admired you in a brush of fingertips near the innermost valley of your thigh, licking a divine chill up your spine. Playing along, you pretended to just notice him, assuming a sinless gasp, and following it with many airheaded inflections, “Oh! Didn’t see you there, handsome. Am I distracting you?”

The standing fan swung its head in your direction, sweeping Eddie’s bangs off his forehead in a brief burst.

You’d been on hundreds of dates, and not once had you been so deeply complimented by someone’s gaze.

Eddie dwelled in the distraction. He stroked his thumb over the fat, and traced his pinky along the hypersensitive crease before the swell which had your muscles tightening in a squirm. He was so close to the middle seam of the pantyhose. Perhaps he knew this as well, but didn’t care—he was just happy to be touching you. Laid out in the neon orange creeper, sun glancing off the packed garage, casting a glow across his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to look at you, so forthcoming and open. A trap, if there ever was one, luring you into picturing him twisted amongst your bedding on a late morning.

As he tracked his gaze over your backside, an aching reminder moseyed its way into his consciousness. Setting into a glare, he forced his way through any pleasantness lingering in his chest to tell you plainly, “Sweetheart, you’re fucking torturing me here.” You giggled, and he broke, falling victim to the squinch at his crow’s feet.

“You think I’m not torturing myself, too?”

“Dunno.” He craned his head back to check underneath the car for where each pair of boots were moving, and you peeped through the driver’s side window to keep tabs on the seated customers in the lobby. Once you both ensured there was no danger of being caught, he turned his attention to you fully. “You’re not wearing my favorite pair, so I couldn’t tell.” In case you weren’t sure, he wrung his hand around your leg, and drummed his fingers where there should be an easily accessible hole in your tights, where he could drag his fingers through your slick truth. His sorry features were tainted with remorse when your plush thighs weren't spilling out from the nylon; however, he drew his eyebrows in mock sympathy, and traced the area. “Could make these my new favorite pair, though.”

You about melted into a puddle of dumbstruck glee at his first foray into initiating dirty talk. “Yeah?” you stressed the word like he would—big smile and all. You raised the placement of your grip on his leg up, further, still going until the inside of your thumb threatened to assist what laid fat and heavy towards his hip. Car exhaust, pungent motor oil, and fumes swam in your head. Mind dizzy, you skimmed your nails over his heavy sack pressed tight against the seam of his coveralls. An implied line was drawn along your heat by his featherlight touch. You leaned over him, real close, chest over chest, knees spread because his hand encouraged you to do so. Mouth to mouth, considering kissing the dirt from his lips. “Wanna rip ‘em, and have me on top while you’re on this thing?”

Eddie moaned, and it wasn’t shy in the loud garage. “Want it so fucking bad, baby.”

A single ding from the bell atop your desk drew your attention.

Bodies paused, you both existed in the indecision of what to do. Eddie’s forehead wrinkled from his high brows driving his attention backwards, peering under the car again. The other employees of David’s Auto Repair shuffled around a Studebaker. There was no one inside to help the customer. What a shame.

Eddie lowered his chin in long clockticks, seeking you behind his heavy lashes and heavier gaze. His nose met the side of yours in an unrefined graze, dragging his chapped lips wherever he felt your smile. He kissed you hungry. Needy, desperate to fit the magnitude of his palm at the back of your head, and dirty your mouth with noses mashed together. He wanted you messy, he wanted you catching your balance on the creeper for the same reason his held sigh became your next breath, taking a pinch of your pantyhose over your pussy and twisting it around his fist to demonstrate his annoyance, as if the dull ache of your bottom lip against his teeth wasn’t illustrative enough. The peak of your whine and his approving hum tethered the snap of your tights and the squeeze he left on your thigh. Filthy warmth blanketed the top of your hand. Stifling hot, calluses running rough over your knuckles as he cupped your palm over his hard length, and curled your fingers around himself, kicking his hips up to really stretch the limits of your grip. Together, he guided you in a few teasing pumps along the base, ego growing at the pretty sound hitched in your throat.

“Hey, Ed!” Mr. Moore’s yell burst the bubble you two surrounded yourselves in. “C’mere, ‘nd look at this.”

It wasn’t an emergency. It could wait. There were enough mechanics on duty, they could figure out what they were gawking at, or admiring, or whatever it was they were doing. That was the justification behind your shared look with Eddie, and the tension holding you two apart faded within seconds. If anything it spurred you on. You raked your fingers through his hair, mussing the roots at the crown of his head, covering the side of his body with yours, stroking his cock. The consequences didn’t matter. He increased the pressure and showed you how he liked it when you looped your thumb and index around the edge of his fat tip and pumped him faster—

Ding, ding, ding.

The kiss slowed from the distraction, but you tried to keep going, staying in the moment with Eddie’s praise burning your cheeks. He was eager, he was close. He was whispering, “Feels fucking good when you—yeah—like that,” when you added the twist of your wrist to the end of motion.

“Ed!” Mr. Moore’s voice ruined the moment. “Where’d he… And wasn’t she at her desk a second ago?”

Ding, ding ding!

Your foreheads crashed together in a defeated groan.

Eddie sagged completely limp on the creeper. “Why do you do this to me?” He dropped his arms in a big shrug, kicking his legs out flat, throbbing hard in your palm. You curbed the urge to keep going and dragged your fingers away.

“Hey, you’re the one who started this,” you sniffed, sitting back to fan your face in effort to make yourself presentable while he considered rolling under the car for the next eternity to hide his blazing red cheeks.

“I was a good worker before you came along,” he argued, pointing at you with a nail outlined in grime. He did it with such vigor his shoulders curled off the creeper, sitting up to give you a real good talkin’ to. “I never did this sorta shit with anyone before you showed up. You’re bad for me. You drive me crazy.” Not an ounce of anger dared enter his tone, not even having strength to control his smile from going lopsided, dimpling, nose scrunching in a badly contained laugh. Never would he want you to think he was mad at you, even as a joke. He was soft like that.

Eddie broke first, and that’s all you needed to kiss him against the black Mustang door, thud on the metal deadened by his nervous hand coming up to brush his curls flat.

“You drive me crazy too,” you promised against his lips. “Now, try not to cum your pants when I bend over to get this trash, and have fun explaining to the guys why you can’t stand up for the next few minutes.” You cocked your head, and smacked your tongue in a hard, “‘Kay?”

He glared at your smugness. Glared at your backside, too. Scowled at his grip formed around the swollen length rising so obvious no matter how he fixed his legs, and surrendered to the humiliation of laying back on the creeper, summoning enough dignity to roll himself to the other side where a gaggle of boots scuffed the ground in search for him, and give some excuse that he was very busy fixing something and wouldn’t be available for the foreseeable future.

originally thursday's section in chapter twelve was split into three separate scenes. i was almost finished writing the first two when i took the section in a different direction and mashed all the important elements into the scene in the breakroom which did make the cut. truthfully i had only written to eddie's line of "wanting it so badly" and they would've gotten interrupted at that point (before any touching), but since this isn't exactly canon, i went ahead and had fun and made it a little spicier.

you might also recognize some imagery, lines of prose, or descriptions i salvaged from this piece and put into the final one!

[mrwinterr]

enjoy the ride | ~preview

Pairing: Eddie Munson x PornStar!Female Reader

Summary: Eddie meets his favorite actress. It's you. You’re his favorite adult film star.��

Warnings: None right now, but will be 18+ (smut) so no minors plz.

Disclaimer: None of the spooky events of the Stranger Things (2016) series take place in this piece. Everything is just where it’s at because this is made up. 

Pre A/N: I've had this in my docs for a while, so instead of letting it rot, I'm posting a preview. Enjoy, I guess.

Eddie didn’t have plans for the weekend. No event to deal at, no gig booked, no campaign prepared, just the prospect of hoping to relax, a simple night in. 

So for him, it was a surprise to run into you since you’d graduated. He couldn’t help but notice the slight transformations you’d undergone. You had seldom spoken to Eddie throughout the school years except for in passing or the occasional transactions involving substances, which had been mere business rather than personal. He thought you were cute back then, but with the passing of time, it had brought about significant growth and development, catching Eddie’s full attention once more. 

His mind raced as he contemplated the possibilities that lay before him. The thought of reconnecting with you, a gateway to a possibility of exploring a potential deeper connection. Would he come up and say hi to you? Spit out something witty? Sell you more weed? Ask about what movie you’re looking at or how have you been since leaving him in the educational prison? Not that it was your fault he got held back… Caught in a whirlwind of emotions, his fight or flight mode was activated and he chose to flee. 

He nearly knocks heads with Steve as he crashes into the counter, startling Robin at the register. 

“Jesus, dude, what’s the rush? We still have half an hour before we close,” Steve says, annoyance seeping in.

“Did you guys know you have a fucking movie star in your store?!” Eddie whispers loudly disregarding Steve’s remark and the weird stare from Robin. 

Bewildered by this question, the two exchanged confused looks in response to his words. The store was so dead, and your hushed presence as you browsed through their selections, had caused them to forget they weren’t alone. As far as they were concerned it was just Eddie inside the building with them. They just wanted to close up shop and go home.  

You weren’t looking for any movie in particular actually, but when you noticed Family Video now had added an adult section you were curious to see the collection they offered, even more that some of your films made it on the shelf. 

You didn’t care that your face was on display, especially in a small town of close minded people to see. It was your life after all. You were here for a good time, not a long time, right? Not to mention it was kind of an ego booster to know that the people who didn’t give you the time of day now wanted you or at the very least, good or bad, thoughts of you invaded their minds. It was sadistic and at the same time amusing because oh, had the tables turned. 

A smirk etched its way upon your lips as the realization washed over you - you had made it…in some sense. Perhaps not to the heights of stardom, but in that moment, it felt as though you were on top of the world, a quiet victory.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie was a fan of your work, a fan of your movies. It had all started when he rented a different tape starring his then former favorite actress. You were in the bonus scene included. You instantly stole the spotlight for him that instead of finishing off to a full movie, he managed to with a short three minute preview of you. It didn’t take him long to make a connection as to why you looked familiar.

Going back to her closing duties, Robin turns away from the conversation as Steve holds his slightly irritated gaze at Eddie trying to make sense of what he was talking about. 

“Who are you talking about?” He asks, response laced with confusion seeking clarity. 

Eddie’s disbelief was evident as he blinked once, then a few more times, and shaking his head, unable to comprehend that they were unaware of the other person that was in the same building as them. 

“Y/N!” He finally answers them, “Y/N is here,” he says again, pointing discreetly in the direction of the secluded area of the store, the pair realizing it was from the adult section. 

Met with blank stares, Eddie let out a sigh of defeat escape his lips, shoulders slumped in the process, displaying clear disappointment in his friends. You were a big thing to him and the lack of shared enthusiasm only deflated his mood. The disconnect between their understanding of your presence and his own excitement weighed heavily on Eddie’s spirit as he quickly realized that they didn’t recognize you. 

“Y/N. Y’know…Hawkins High Class of ‘84. Pornstar Y/N,” Eddie hints.

“Pornstar?” Robin questioned, surprise evident in her voice. 

“Y/N? Sweet, quiet, Y/N?” Steve asked, seeking confirmation as if he couldn’t believe what his friend was saying. 

“Yes, that Y/N!” Eddie affirmed. 

The same sense of smug satisfaction stayed with you and only increased with the conversation you overheard when you made your way to checkout. 

As you eavesdropped on Eddie’s hurried conversation with Robin and Steve, you couldn’t help but be intrigued by the intensity and urgency in his voice, especially when he was talking about you. The words spilled from his mouth in a rapid succession that left Steve and Robin struggling to keep up. 

“Hold up. Did you say she’s a pornstar now?” Robin asked, needing further clarification to which Eddie nodded in response. 

“Wait, how do you know that?” Steve asks only to be met with Eddie’s widened eyes conveying a “how else do you think, idiot?” kind of way. 

“Oh! Ew, dude!” Steve yells, expressing his disgust before backing away. 

“You had to ask,” Robin chuckled, finding the situation now amusing. 

“Come on, man. Grow up. It’s totally normal,” Eddie retorted, debunking Steve’s appalled demeanor. Robin nodded in agreement. 

“Still, I don’t want to think about it,” Steve insisted, crossing his arms. 

“Whatever. Did you guys know she was even in here?” Eddie asked. 

“No. I guess we forgot when you got here. She’s probably been here for a while,” said Steve. 

“She got here a little before you did,” Robin suddenly recalls,  "I remember now because Dingus flirted up a storm with her.”

“Don’t start with that,” Steve quickly defends himself, “I wasn’t the only one doing the flirting,” he added as the two revived their unsettled debate from earlier. 

“Shut up!” Eddie shouts, silencing the two, “She’s been in here that long and I’ve been walking around this place like a damn tool wasting my time?” he exclaimed in frustration. 

“Well, what would you have done if you knew I was here?” You piped up, throwing Eddie a curveball, your smooth voice catching all three of their attention. 

Eddie spun around, his mouth opening and closing without uttering a single world. He struggled to grasp his own thoughts, attempting to decide on his next move. Every ounce of self-confidence he just had seemed to evaporate from his being as his eyes traveled up and down your figure. 

Post A/N: I'll finish this someday...but thoughts?

[emmyrosee]

“Kiyoomi?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Tell me a story?”

If anyone would’ve told 23 year old Sakusa Kiyoomi that he’d be playing professional volleyball in the day, and professional adult-sitting at night, he would’ve scoffed right in their face. He can barely manage himself, why would he waste his time “babysitting” another human and keeping them from staying up too late, making sure they eat all their foods, even wash after playing outside?

That was, until you crashed into Sakusa Kiyoomi’s life.

You, who’d managed to change every thought Kiyoomi once had about love. You, who’d managed to convince him that he was worthy and able to love with all his heart. You, who’d found his sarcasm funny and his teases charming.

You, who he’d never tell all of this to. It’s not like he had to, your feelings for each other were seldom spoken aloud but shown in the endless ways you’d show affection- be it holding hands, him opening the door for you, shielding your head when you bend down to pick something up…

Telling you a damned bedtime story.

He wasn’t proud of how in love with you he was, but he supposes it’s too late to go back now, especially with the way your eyes peer up lovingly at him.

Ugh.

“Okay-“ he groans, looking down at you with a deadpanned face. You take the chance to snuggle closer to his side. “Once upon a time, there was a brat who kept me up at night. She was annoying, and a brat, so the prince banished her to the couch forever, so he could get some much deserved sleep, and live happily ever after.”

“I don’t like this story,” you grumble.

“Get used to it, because it’s about to be based on real events.” Despite his words, he turns on his side to bury his face into the warmth of your neck, arms tightening around you to keep you pinned to his side. He needs to sleep next to you almost as much as you do, him, but he’s rather be lit on fire and pissed on that ever confess it.

He hums happily as your fingers lace into his hair, twirling the ringlets around affectionately. “Well,” you begin, and Kiyoomi hums in a confirmation he’s listening. “The prince sounds like a real masochist if he keeps letting the brat come into bed every night.”

“The prince will not be answering any questions regarding his feelings for the brat,” he says cooly, though he smiles as you laugh at his quickness.

“Maybe the brat should kick the prince out of the bed-“ you angle your head down to lock eyes with him. “You know. For the prince’s sake. Since he needs his sleep so very bad.”

His head pops up to give you a faux annoyed glare, which falters when you grin at him. “And the brat can’t sleep on the couch because…”

You look at him incredulously, “uhm, because the brat is too pretty. Duh.”

This, kiyoomi laughs aloud at, his chest vibrating against your own, and you relish in the sound. He pulls you closer, something you weren’t even possible could happen, and he takes a long, selfish inhale of your warm scent.

“Well,” he sighs contently. “I can’t argue with that one.” He plants a loving kiss to your jawline, “when you’re right, you’re right.”

“I’m glad the prince is so weak to the brat’s attention.”

He snorts as you smirk. “Yeah. Don’t remind me. Brat.”

[deepsix-writing]

Fix You. Chapter 1 of 5. (BEGINNING)

After the events of Marble Hornets, Tim is left to pick up the pieces of what is left of his old life. One piece in particular has him haunted.

(NEXT CHAPTER)

When Tim had first seen the hooded figure lying motionless on its back after falling off the balcony, he'd thought, good. Another puppet of the Operator down… one step closer to putting an end to this nightmare. He hadn't realized it was, instead, the beginning of an entirely new one.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message… or don't. Here's the beep.'

Never had Tim known the sound of a dial tone so well. His devotion to that voicemail inbox was as a priest to his god; He knelt in prayer morning, noon, and night, begging and pleading with whatever force it was that looked down on him from heaven to let him hear his best friend's voice just one more time. Steadfast in faith, he never stopped calling, never stopped hoping, even as the seasons changed and he did too. Even as the police came in search of missing persons, and went when they found nothing, Tim remained. His razor collected dust in his bathroom. A beard as thick as his misplaced hope had cropped up on his face.

The investigations had been particularly difficult for Tim, especially when detectives had shown up on his doorstep. For Brian's, he'd easily been able to shrug them off and convince both them and himself that the college student must have been off visiting family out in the west, or enjoying a break from classes by the coast. It was summer, and the benefit of the doubt was his seldom hope. He called Brian's number and let the voicemail play for the police once, then a million times more for himself after they were long gone.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message… or don't. Here's the beep.'

Then came Alex's. The film student had worked up a track record of unexplained disappearances already (something Tim relayed to the cops word for word), but Tim didn't have much else to say about him. The man had already painted the walls of Tim's mind with a noxious crimson; he couldn't bear to lose another shred of his regards to him. The detectives said they would keep in touch with Tim if they discovered anything new, and they went on their way. Tim let the sound of Brian's canned voicemail message fill the empty space in the meantime.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message… or don't.'

Time marched on. Tim marched on. In the mornings, he took his medicine, listened to the voicemail, and afterwards he went to work. Admittedly, the job he worked was a crappy one, but it was the first he'd managed to hold down in years. It would do. Tim would keep to himself and do just enough to get by until he was let off in the evening. Stopping by a gas station for cheap junk food on the way home was a mandatory part of the routine; he would do anything to prolong the inevitable sight awaiting him in his apartment.

He wades through the garbage of his overgrown and messy apartment after he wedges the door open and carefully locks it back up again. It is welcome procrastination for when he makes it to his bathroom and looks in the mirror. When he looks at himself, all he sees is blood.

'Hey. It's Brian. Leave a message…'

His god is dead. Tim isn't sure how long he's been praying to a corpse, but now he's able to smell the rot. It fills his nose and makes it hard to think. When he looks in the mirror, all he sees is death.

A tidal wave of blood replaces the ringing in his ears. He grips the edges of his sink. He stares down a murderer. A brutal killer that single-handedly delivered the end to all of his closest friends. People who'd had rich lives and bright futures ahead of them.

Alex's last moments replay in his mind. His hands, the same ones that had gone white with how tightly he gripped the countertop, were the ones he had used to stab the film student in the throat and the image would never ever fucking leave him. Over and over, again and again until Alex was coughing and hacking and drowning in his own blood. The sound of a punctured windpipe was not one he would ever forget. The scene had smelled like metal and victory at an impossible cost. His hands had been stained red ever since.

It was a microscopic change, one Tim hadn't noticed at first, but he was certain the skin on his hands was a shade redder than the rest of his body. No amount of hand-washing or showers or even bleach would fix it, and no one at his crappy job had known him long enough to see the change like he did. But Tim knew. Tim could hold up his hand against his face and be able to tell. His hands were cursed by a near-transparent shade of crimson, and any time he looked at them, guilt burnt a hole in his stomach. His anxiety would be remedied with another replay of the voicemail that never changed.

It had taken Tim longer than he could proudly admit to figure out what that had meant for his former friend. Combing through Jay's online archive of footage to find out exactly who the hooded man was had taken even longer. It was like watching his brother's last moments on video after finding out he'd died the same night. In comparison, the voicemail was like hearing the voice of his patron saint.

Tim's faith dies in the middle of the night, when he lies in bed with a cigarette in one hand and his phone in the other. The device is perched over his head, shining down on his face as he calls Brian's number, listens to the voicemail, and hangs up.

'Hey. It's Brian…'

It's a neurotic dance he repeats until his eyes grow tired and he's just on the verge of sleep, and then…

"Uh, hello? Who is this?"

Tim dropped the phone on his face before he knew how to react. It fell in the crevice between his side and the bed, and it took him a frantic moment to wrench it out.

"Brian, Brian! Holy shit, are you okay? It's Tim. It's me, Tim! Are you okay?? What, What happened–"

"Woah, hey!" Tim realized it wasn't Brian's voice. "-I'm not – I just found this phone on the side of the road earlier. It's not mine."

Then it set in. Then something withered inside him. When his lips moved, it was a miracle.

"…Where on the side of the road?"

"Oh, just by Rosswood Park. So are you friends with this Brian guy? He probably wants his phone ba–"

Tim snapped his phone shut and never called the number again. Sleep did not come to him that night, and in the next few weeks they were as lovers on thin, frayed ropes. Circles as dark as his guilt weighed down his eyes. Thoughts he'd put behind himself years before came running to catch up with him.

Tim was dead. His hope was a flickering candle that had been tossed into the ocean. It hadn't stood a chance. He hadn't stood a chance. He only knew of one thing left to do.

He found that one thing in his car keys and in his drive to Rosswood Park and in the loaded handgun he'd stuffed in his pocket. He parked his car sideways in the lot overlooking the forest. The front end of the car dipped past the painted dividers, and usually he'd hate it when people left their cars parked like that. Every time, Tim would grimace and regard the sight as a result of the driver lacking common decency. But in that moment, it was the last thing he could have ever thought to care about.

It was funny, how one simple piece of knowledge had changed Tim's entire perspective on life. He had decided that morning would be his last, and just like that, the world had flipped on its head. The rising sun was brighter, the morning sky was prettier, and his bed had been warmer. He even felt like cooking a meal for himself that day.

Tim went to the store after showering and dressing himself in his cleanest clothes. He bought just enough ingredients for this one recipe, and he even bought dried rosemary. It came in a little glass bottle, and was a dollar and sixty cents more expensive than the store brand spices he usually bought. Every time before, his eyes had passed over it. He'd excused the idea of buying it despite seeing it as an ingredient in countless recipes because it wasn't worth it, the dish would taste just as good without it, it was a waste of money. But when he used it to cook his last meal that day, it was like finding the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle he'd tried to put together years ago. It was the best food he'd ever tasted.

In the park, the birds chirped like an orchestra catered to Tim's ears. It was late fall, and the golden hues of falling leaves orbited around him. Before he joined the barren trees ranks, he sent a text to his former manager. Dead men can't work.

For a dead man, his feet were sure and steady. He knew exactly where he was going: the same place he'd died once before. Its once pristine white walls were peeling, and it was covered in graffiti now, but it hadn't changed any more than Tim had.

At the hospital, Tim had learned how the world worked. You start out whole, and every time the world beats you down, it takes a piece of you. With every friend he'd lost, Tim lost a chunk of his soul. And when he'd killed Alex, he'd lost a bigger chunk than he could have ever anticipated. Tim knew he wouldn't have enough of himself left afterwards to survive losing anyone else.

He'd always tried to find those pieces. It was the only reason he hadn't split town the moment he'd had the chance. Tim's eyes had always been full of stars and the against-all-odds hope that one day he could find those pieces again. Or maybe, he'd thought, he could find them again in someone else. But that someone else was gone, now.

Whatever pieces that had left him had rotted and decomposed. They nourished the soil that crept up from the floor of his old hospital room and grounded the lichen that hung from the ceiling. Time could put the very foundations of the room to ruin and Tim would still feel the years he'd spent locked away here like the ache in his feet from walking all this way.

It was as fitting a place as any to die. Tim envied his younger self: back when his mind was his biggest problem, and not his actions. As he closed the half-hinged door and trailed his hands along the peeling paint of his coffin, he hoped and prayed no adventurous teenagers would come and run into his body until the next summer, when wild animals had taken the pieces of him that would be left behind. He didn't want this place to harbor any more trauma for anyone else. He would end that legacy here and now.

Tim pulled the handgun from his pocket. It was warm from resting against his thigh. He brought it up to his chin, then thought better and let the tip of the barrel press against his temple. But it felt wrong. Too dramatic, too highschool. The warm metal slid to the center of his forehead instead. But he couldn't grip the trigger as well, he started to think that instead he could-

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Tim assumed it was the dead man's manager, replying to the dead man's lukewarm resignation text. But why not read a dead man's phone while he still could? He let the gun rest against the side of his head as he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

'Hey. I know it's been a while since we've talked and you're probably pissed at me (understatement I know) but I need a ride. Really really need a ride. I'm supposed to be gone by 4, so if you could be here by then, I'd owe you my life.'

The text was from a number he didn't recognize and was accompanied by an address for some place in downtown Tuscaloosa. Tim was just on the verge of clicking his phone closed, excusing it as meant for someone else, when the unmarked number sent another message and suddenly there was no air in his lungs.

'This is Brian btw. Lost my old phone.'

Tim's grip on the handgun's trigger turned to wrought iron in his surprise, and a loud BANG made the last piece of himself jump out of his body. His ears didn't have enough time to stop ringing before both his phone and gun clattered to the floor. His fingers shot up to his head and he felt dizzy when he pulled them back to reveal blood.

Tim fell down on his ass and suddenly there was a fire in his body that burned hotter than the pain in his head. He wanted - no, needed - to stay alive. Even if that text wasn't actually from Brian…

No, it had to be. Needed to be. Tim brought his hands back up to his head, clasping his temples and crying out in relief when he realized his skull was still intact. Blood and heat still poured from his head, but he'd managed to isolate the unknown injury to a graze mark along his left temple. It was enough to sting like a bitch when his fingertips met the open wound, but wasn't deep enough to reach the bone.

It was the second most profound miracle of the day.

The third was how he'd managed to get back to his car without anyone seeing the state of his face, and fourth was the first aid kit he had stuffed in his car. He'd bought it impulsively about a month after he'd started listening to Brian's voicemail recordings, just in case he ever ran across his old friend on the side of the road on his way to the store or work. He had always held out hope for that man.

Tim checked the clock. 3:24pm.

The address from the text message had to be at least twenty minutes away. Shit.

Tim's work of patching up his temple through the foldout mirror in his car was sloppy, and no neater was he when he stuffed his handgun into the glove compartment and jammed his keys into the ignition. The ringing in his ears was the only accompaniment to his wild thoughts as he sped down the road to meet the man behind the text that had given him a new lease on life.

The address turned out to lead to a neat little building just a few blocks from the not-abandoned, non-psychiatric hospital in downtown Tuscaloosa. The sign out front seemed medical, but through Tim's stinging temple and his racing thoughts and the fire in his gut, he couldn't read past 'rehabilitation'. Tim pulled his car into the lot by the front doors and his parking job is just as crooked as it was in Rosswood Park's lot.

He's about to leave the car, but confronting whatever lies in wait for him suddenly wrenches his heart back to the park. His head lurches and he is in his bedroom with his phone, hearing the stranger's voice through Brian's number.

A cigarette would help ease his nerves, he's sure, but a sign by his car advertising a 'smoke-free facility' discourages him. He settles with rolling down his window and alternating between resting his arm on it and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. It's an ineffective compromise.

Tim looks at the front of the building through the film of grime on his windshield and watches as people filter in and out of the front doors. Some are in crutches, others have casts. All are accompanied by medical staff in clean uniforms, all accompanied by smiles and kind, encouraging words. Tim wonders which of the staff fake their smiles, and which of them see their patients as less than human. He averts his gaze as he locks eyes with one of them, too scared he'll find thinly-veiled hatred for him, too.

When a skinny figure in a wheelchair exits the building with a nurse by his side, Tim does not make the same mistake of not recognizing his best friend. He is bumbling along the paved concrete at a snail's pace, struggling to get the wheels to move smoothly. The chair goes sideways every other inch he advances, but his clothes are clean and he is smiling.

He is smiling. Brian is alive and well and smiling and Tim is launching himself out of his car without so much as turning off the engine. Brian says something to the nurse and laughs and only has a fraction of a second to throw his old friend a surprised glance before Tim snaps up the space between them like a greedy animal and holds him tight. His arms squeeze Brian with no mercy until an awkward chuckle from the man threatens him to burst.

"Gh - uh. Happy to see you too, man." Brian's words are choked out through strangled breaths. "I'd hug you back, but uh– ok. I can't breathe."

Tim relents only a moment later when Brian starts wheezing, and when he peels himself away, his hand still lingers on Brian's shoulder. Wayward priest, meet your angel. Here to reunite you with your maker.

Brian is glowing, at least in Tim's mind. His clothes are cleaner than he's ever seen them, and even as Brian says something to him that he doesn't make out, he's smiling. It's that same stupid, cheeky grin he'd wear whenever he'd tell cheesy puns and jokes to Tim in highschool. Those upturned eyes that always looked towards the sun and would exchange glances with him that said a million words regarded him now with joy despite it all. The same fiery passion in his gaze and ice water in his veins was there now, even now that Tim had completely blanked out on his words.

"Uh… Tim? You alright?"

Brian's voice carries all of the same, and Tim is undone. A weight melts off his shoulders, but something holes itself up in his throat. All he can manage is a nod.

Brian exchanges a look with the nurse and looks back at Tim. Then, he laughs. The sound is a fire that burns away Tim's fear and anxiety and gives way to a giddy feeling he can't remember the last time he'd felt. He moves a hand up to wipe his face and sniffs. He hadn't realized how wet his face had gotten.

Then, he smiles back. He isn't sure if his words will hold, but he tests the waters anyways.

"I missed you, Brian."

I thought you were dead. I mourned for you. Grieved for you as if I'd watched the soul leave your body with my own two eyes.

"I missed you too, Tim."

Brian just smiles. And it's more than Tim could have ever possibly hoped for.

[kylobith]

Long Live the King!

In honour of Bernard Hill (1944 - 2024)

Rays of light caress the grass on the mounds of the Barrowfield at the foot of the mighty hill of Edoras. They bathe the landscape and the mountainside in their glow, enlivening the colours of the earth and the last snows of the season. What ochre dirt usually lies under the canopy of the sky now glows bright gold, nearly rivalling the roof of Meduseld, perched up far above it on its throne of stone. The land comes alive in the hues of the realm’s colours, proudly displayed on flagpoles held by soldiers.

Gathered around the newest mound on the Barrowfield, they line up the path to the temporary entrance. Heads held high with their helms down to their brows, their teary eyes behold the sky as the etiquette demands of them. Before them, closer to the path, courtiers stand in reverence, their weeping disturbing the otherworldly stillness of the scenery. By the carved stone frame of the mount’s threshold, a group of women cry out an ancient chant as armoured pallbearers carry forth the wooden stretcher upon which rests their fallen king.

Upon a cushion of green velvet embroidered with gold rests his proud head, once bearing the crown of his elders. His blond hair cascades upon it like a halo highlighting the kindness of his heart. Oh, a heart bearing much burden, yet that retained much affection for his demanding court and realm, and never once turned away from his family. Not deliberately, that is.

Behind him, what remains of the royal family follows. All are clad in black mourning dress, except for Éomer, whose shoulders are covered by a fur-lined cloak passed down from his uncle. His hand holds that of his betrothed, with her Gondorian hair braided in a Rohirric fashion. Across his chest, with its polished hilt resting on the crook of his left elbow, Herugrim awaits to be laid to rest in turn.

Following her brother is Éowyn, clasping an embroidered handkerchief to her quivering lips, supported by her husband-to-be. She leans against his shoulder, her trembling hand clutching his until her knuckles turn paler than her tear-streaked cheeks. Seldom has she managed to utter a word since she arose earlier this morning, so deep her grief stirs within her.

The pallbearers come to a halt before the threshold and those who followed them come to stand on either side of the pathway. Éomer releases Lothíriel’s hand and bows before his beloved uncle. The women cease their chants yet continue to weep, softly enough to bring attention to the king’s nephew. Keeping a firm grip on the crimson leather, he unsheathes Herugrim and holds it up above him, letting the blade reflect the sun’s glow.

‘All hail Théoden King!’ he cries out with his brow furrowed and a gleam of determination twinkling in his mournful eye.

And all respond, with the banners held high in their backs.

‘All hail Théoden King!’

Éomer solemnly lowers the sword and places it upon his uncle’s chest, closing his cold hands, which once ruled with firm grace over Rohan, around the handle. His sister steps forward and receives a small bunch of simbelmynë carefully picked from Théodred’s barrow from a soldier. She kisses the flowers and tucks them into her uncle’s grip. With a last caress on his brow, the Lady of Rohan murmurs.

Another sob wracks through her and warm tears flood her delicate traits.

‘Be at peace, son of Rohan. Your children shall never forget you, nor your gentle heart. Oh, find your fathers and embrace our beloved Théodred in our stead!’

‘Farewell, uncle, farewell!’

As she stumbles back, she collides with her brother, whose hand rests upon her shoulder. They look upon Théoden in grief as the women resume their laments, whilst bystanders bow their heads.

Faramir observes Éowyn from the corner of his eye. His heart sinks at the thought of her suffering, and never has he felt so helpless. What can one man do in the face of mourning? What more can he do besides embrace her when she needs it and listen to her memories of her childhood? Not that he minds any of it, he would wear his arms thin from holding her if he could, drown his fingers from brushing away her tears, grow deaf from hearing her speak. And he would do it all over again in a heartbeat, a thousand times over, if given the chance!

But the sight of her slouched shoulders when he knows how proud they always are triggers a pain greater than the arrows that pierced his body. Yet patience is all he must show. Patience and compassion. These virtues he has never lacked, despite his misplaced humility when praised about them.

And so, he listens to the laments sung in words whose meaning evades him, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the shieldmaiden and her brother. When the chants end, Théoden is brought inside the barrow, beheld for the last time by the orphaned children he once considered his. The tomb is closed, and the crowd soon disperses, retracing their steps towards the Golden Hall, where a banquet will be held to reminisce about the great deeds of the fallen king and honour their new monarch.

Faramir stands by the pathway, nodding politely at the soldiers, courtiers, and those he has come to meet in Ithilien and Minas Tirith. Lothíriel, his cousin, comes to place a kiss on his cheek, squeezing his arm with a brief smile, before walking away. Éomer bows his head at him and Faramir pats his shoulder in silent support, which the new king of Rohan accepts gladly by placing his hand over his future brother-in-law’s.

But Éowyn remains by the mound, her eyes fixed upon the stone now separating her from her uncle. He awaits her, keeping his distance at first to allow her to mourn in peace. As long minutes pass, he pinches his lips and draws nearer, not wanting to startle her.

‘I would have you smile again,’ her sweet voice rises before he even reaches her, ‘not grieve for those whose time has come.’

Éowyn peers over her shoulder, her eyes brimming with tears.

‘That is what he once told me. Before the battle, before he—'

She turns again, choking up on her words. Faramir’s arms encircle her and press her gently to his heart as he rests his chin on the top of her head.

‘He must have been a great man, for him to earn such devotion from you,’ he whispers.

‘Far beyond that.’

With a sniffle, she looks up at him, speaking in a firm tone which contrasts with the vulnerability in her eyes.

‘I intend to respect his word, Faramir. So, I beg you never to make me weep.’

Faramir tucks an untameable tress of her golden hair and offers her a tender smile.

‘Beloved Éowyn, I would never dream of it.’

Nestling her head underneath his chin again, she lets out a sigh of relief. A smile grows on his cheeks.

‘I fear that I have spoken a lie. I can think of three instances where your crying would be welcome. The first is if one of the most moving poems recited from my lips by the hearth in our home would stir you so that tears would grace your eyes. The second would be our wedding day. And the third, if I dare dream of it, is the day that you hold our future child for the first time.’

Éowyn grins against his neck and places a kiss in its crook.

‘How presumptuous of you to believe that I would show any emotion in such instances!’

‘Would you not?’ he asks, his eyes widening in surprise.

A chuckle escapes her and her hands cradle his face.

‘Of course, I will. And I am ready to bet that you would weep before I do in all three situations.’

Faramir laughs along and brushes his lips against hers for a moment. A single instant where there is no place for grief. When he pulls away, his thumb traces her cheekbone.

‘We must return to Meduseld. You are the one to present the cup to your brother.’

‘Very well. Go ahead, I will be right behind you.’

Faramir nods and begins to walk away, respecting her wishes. Éowyn turns to the barrow and comes forward to graze the stone mantel with her fingertips. She presses a kiss to it and takes a deep breath.

‘Farewell, uncle. Be at peace; I am smiling again.’

[kil-g]

breathing room

a/n: finals season am i right, ladies, men and nbs?

summary: "let’s go home for a week or two.” he says, his eyes meeting yours once again. you look for a sign of a joke somewhere in them, or in the tone of his voice. you don’t find any.

gn!reader ; 141!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: blood m

--

The last few weeks had been long and particularly hard.

If it weren’t for the proverbial rug being ripped out from under your feet courtesy of Shepherd and Graves, or the wild goose chase for a weapon of mass destruction, or even Hassan’s game of hide and seek, you would’ve been fine.

For things to go wrong was a given in this kind of work. It may very well be within the job description. You knew this well, you made your peace with it.

This, however, was different. This had been well outside the boundaries of what was considered normal. It was ridiculous, approaching the air of unbelievable. It was several consecutive days of touch and go, of dodging and praying, running and hiding with very few and far between moments to catch your breath.

Blessings were counted, scrutinized and counted again. Once after Soap disarmed the second missile, then again when you managed to scrape your way out of Las Almas, then once again after the team had secured Alejandro during the prison break.

Moments, all few and far between, to simply catch your breath. You supposed rest was a little hard to ask for at the moment. And, it’d be harder to find any rest to be had now that everyone had their skull-painted balaclavas on and ready to go.

It’s after the team has dispersed that you’re in the armory. You’re not sure why you’re lingering. Perhaps, you liked the temporary solitude because from here, all the conversations happening outside of the room are diffused into muffled hums by the distance between you and the source of the voices. You’ve double, even triple-checked your gear. Alone, you sit on a bench turning a two-inch blade between your fingers when, suddenly, the quiet is interrupted by a voice cutting over the hum of noise just outside.

“You alright?”

Your head snaps to the source, revealing Ghost standing at the threshold.

“Of course.” You answer, but it’s clear by his lack of response that he doesn’t believe you. You watch him move to stand in front of you. Then, he takes one glance around–ensuring that no one is looking  in this direction–and adjusts the straps and buckles of your tactical gear. 

“You look tired.” Ghost says.

You snort, “Thanks, you really know how to make a person feel real special.” He hums, then flattens down one of the pockets with his thumb. “How are you holding up?”

Ghost hesitates before he answers. Then, he blinks rapidly before shutting his eyes slowly and it brings you to the realization that, even if you’d seldom caught him in the act, Ghost did, in fact, require sleep every once in a while. That these last few weeks were long and particularly hard, and he must feel it too.

You wonder if he’s purposely not meeting your eyes and, tentatively, you slide a hand up his arm and squeeze.

“I’m alright.” He says. You could almost laugh at yourself; you’re not quite sure what you expected. 

“Have you got any plans for after this?” You say, all while attempting to curb the tone of hopefulness that must be leaking out into the words.

Ghost simply let you get away with too much, and it was as strange as it was new. It was affection without a name or place to put it. 

“No.” 

You hold back a smile, “None?”

Then, Simon swallows down on his nerves. You have one palm against the bench and you lean your weight against it to get a better angle looking up at him. Silently, his eyes move back and forth between yours and he hesitates on the words before they’ve even formed. 

The precipice is large, he thinks, and the jump was treacherous. If he thought too hard about it, he wouldn't actually make the leap, so instead of letting his nerves get the best of him, he says, “How about we take a break after this?”

He looks down from your gaze, his hands lingering slightly too long on the straps of your vest. He can feel you staring up at him. 

There’s a playful glimmer behind your eyes when you open your mouth and say, “Are you breaking up with me?”

“You know what I mean.” He says, plainly.

“Tell me.” You reply, teasingly.

No matter how much he didn’t want to humor you, he did anyway.

Simon wasn’t joking when he said that you looked tired. You were tired. Everyone was tired. And, despite that, you still smiled at him and joked with him. Then, tentatively, he moves his eyes towards your mouth and studies the curve it makes. He’s fighting the urge to take your chin by his thumb and forefinger, and even lean down and plant his mouth against yours. If it weren’t for the company just outside the door, he would have lost this fight with the utmost pleasure but the chances of being seen outweighed the urge to wipe the smile off your face.

“Let’s go home for a week or two.” He says, his eyes meeting yours once again. You look for a sign of a joke somewhere in them, or in the tone of his voice. You don’t find any, and then, for a second, you wonder if you’d imagined him saying it. “Jesus, if you hate the idea that much then just say–”

“No.” You blurt, shaking your head. If anyone heard you, they haven’t given any indication that they had. “I don’t hate that idea. Not at all. I just didn’t expect you to actually say it.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, stepping back to get a space between the two of you. 

“You don’t have to pout, Simon.” You stand, fighting back the urge to laugh. “Of course we can head home after this, especially since you asked so nicely.” Still, he refuses to look at you and you snort. You glance out the door to make sure no one’s looking, then grasp at his arm once again. Squeezing it a little too hard, you crane upwards to place a kiss on his jaw through the mask. 

“Keep it up, I might change my mind.” He says, even though you both know he doesn’t mean it. “Who knows, maybe, we’ll even head back to base and there’ll be twice as much paperwork on your desk than usual.”

“There’s always twice as much paperwork than usual, no thanks to you.” You reply.

He knows you’re not really complaining, but he can’t help but feel guilty. His eyes are looking down into yours and he presses his lips together. Part of him couldn’t help but feel like he’d been responsible for all the hell the two of you had just been through. The proverbial rug was beneath his feet after all, he should’ve known that someone was grasping to pull it even though foresight was probably impossible. 

There are several things he feels like he should say. Perhaps, an ‘I’m sorry.’

But, no that wouldn’t suffice. You would ask him why he would have to apologize to you for anything and he wouldn’t know how to explain himself.

He wonders, then, if he should say, ‘I’m glad you’re okay.”

But, you were in a certain mood, which was made plain by the look on your face and the sickly sweet tone of your voice. If he said anything like that now, he’d never hear the end of it.

Then, he thinks, ‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’

But, that’s too much. It’s far too much. It’s not for here and now. It’s for another place and another time.

So instead of saying any of those things, he says, “Let’s go join the others before they start looking for us.” 

He’s out the door before you have the chance to say anything else.

–

Leaning your head against the helicopter wall, you did your best not to look at Soap.

Hassan’s blood was still stained across his shirt and he was exhausted. It felt like the least you could do for him.

Once the helicopter landed, you and Ghost promptly slipped away from the rest of the group who were speaking quite animatedly about the nearest bar and how to get there. How they still had the energy was beyond viable comprehension.

You completed all the necessary steps to your usual routine for each time you returned back from a mission. The hot water from the shower relaxed the soreness of your muscles. You took slightly longer just to ensure that all the dirt had been scrubbed out of your fingernails. 

When you return to your quarters, there’s no paperwork to be found at all. The desk is as empty as you’d left it weeks ago save for the pens, notebooks and various folders strewn across. Instead, there’s a note the size of your palm sitting on the desk by your cot. Upon closer inspection it reads:

Told Price about our situation. Flight is in the morning. Get some rest, I will come wake you.

P.S. You owe me for these reports.

You trace the lettering with the tip of your finger and smile to yourself, doubting that he’d actually hold you to it. 

[anlian-aishang]

You gift him a new tie to wear, he puts in on immediately. Only for you to pull him nice and close with it later.

Like the lecture hall has been emptied after the last class of the day, you grab the fresh, pristine, new tie right near his throat and and twirl it around your hand so it's a solid hold, and yank on it to bring him forwards. He gets a cute little blush cause you're being so up front about it (which could be unusual) but it's for your benefit as much as his, really.

After all, change is as good as a holiday, right?

Have been screaming about this inbox for over a year and only tonight was my brain able to respond with some words.

tags: [professor] levi ackerman x [wife] reader, smut [foreplay], modern AU, fem!reader word count: 1400

Watching him lecture to a hall of hundreds, it was hard to believe he was your husband. Just this morning, he had brewed you a pot of coffee, wearing nothing but glasses and briefs. So opposite to the professor before you now: black slacks ironed, button-down tucked perfectly into them, sealed with a leather belt - one you remembered using in less academic contexts.

Levi’s voice was uniquely stern, one you seldom heard at home, almost as if he was trying to frighten the undergraduates into remembering every word out his mouth. He could feign all he wanted, but you knew just how deeply he cared. Office hours that often ran overtime: Ackerman never turned away a student at the door. When he finally did make it home, his nights were sleepless: staring at the ceiling, praying that his students were meanwhile studying. He was convinced that he was more anxious for the final than they were - their futures relying on their grade, on their comprehension, on the quality of his teaching, no matter how distantly. 

Maybe that’s why the veins were standing in his neck, why his hand gripped the chalk so tightly, why those ice-blue eyes snapped glances at the clock so often. You shivered in your back-row seat and felt warped back to your first encounter: longing for him to look at you, terrified that he would. Suddenly, you felt the fear of the students, yet in good company of his fangirls. Greatly outnumbered, you were sure that if they knew the marital status of the classroom’s intruder, violence would ensue, and they would promptly audition to serve as her replacement. So ridiculous, you giggled to yourself - at least you had tried to, but someone managed to hear.

“Please,” although his voice was far from pleading as Professor Ackerman spotted you in the crowd. Glaring through black bangs, “contain yourself.”

Audible was the turn of everyone in their old, wooden chairs. All eyes on you felt miniscule compared to his, which still - after all these years - took your breath away. With his students’ attention off of him, Levi tossed you a smirk. Then, with half an eye roll, Ackerman turned back to the board, “Right, as I was saying…”

// // // 

He had warned you that the line would be long, but silly you had not thought about what to do with yourself during that time. You were the only “student” who had brought a purse instead of a backpack, whose notebook was merely a planner’s extra pages, who had not worn sweatpants to the last lecture of the semester. Awkwardly, you paced in the back and made yourself a shadow, aiming to give privacy to the students, their professor, and their last-minute questions. 

Maybe it was the anticipation of what would happen after they left, but you could have sworn that those students were taking their sweet time. Eyeing his wedding ring? Eyeing something else? Soaking up every second with him? Vying for some favoritism before grades were submitted? Your thoughts were ridiculous, but your heart inexplicably tightened. Levi would have scoffed if he knew how you felt, especially given all the times he had referred to them as “snot-nosed brats.” Nevertheless, your pacing burst free from the background: heels clacking loudly, echoing through the near-empty theater, and by proxy - shoving the last students out of the room. 

“Good luck.” By one hand on the podium, Levi pivoted out from behind and waved to them on their way out, “And don’t forget to-” but you had shut the door behind them before he could finish.

With arms crossed and a sour look, you made your way down the aisles, a thwartless pace to the professor. He placed one hand on his hip and teased, “Ah - coming to apologize?”

Right hand slithered over his shoulder, left hand met it at his nape. A brief swipe of his undercut before crawling back down his chest. Palms over his pecs, lungs breathing heavy underneath. Levi tilted his head and stared, “I have to ask, little Mrs. Ackerman, was something funny? Or were you just trying to distract your classmates?” Slender finger traced under your chin and beckoned your gaze to meet his. “I take discipline very seriously, so please - explain yourself.”

“Oh, I just… you know… this class is so boringgg.” You flashed an obnoxious grin, donned an even more obnoxious voice. “I thought I’d just scroll on my phone a bit, cause I mean, when are we ever really going to use this stuff anyways?”

Between your words, your touch had deviated. Fingers delicate as they traced down his sleeves, familiar with all the muscles they hid, until interlocked in his hands. With that hold, you lifted him to your lips. Tongue danced between his chalk-covered digits, lips circled them clean.

Filthy. The clean freak held back his swears, a heavy exhale instead. He bit his lip, biting back a sultry smile. Shaking his head, the pinch of your chin tightened. Snide, “Afraid I have no choice but to give you an F.”

Falsified shock, your lips parted with a gasp that made his pants tighten. Fingertips drifted even lower, following the sewn threads of his shirt. Nails hiked over his nipples and gave a pair of split-second pinches, drawing a stiff arch of his back, at last pressing him to your front. The man shuddered against you, but that did not stop your pursuit. Knuckles hooked through his belt loops and pulled him even closer. At your sex, you could feel him grow: hard, warm, throbbing, though his calm expression gave little indication. As his erection grew, though, his composure was inversely related - as he would put it. Leaking tip met the bottom of his cold belt buckle, his inhales turned sharp. Frustrated grunts as his swell bargained with the confines of his linens. Music to your ears, you felt he deserved some too. 

One hand cupped the back of his neck, the other his length. Snapping his ear to your lips, where teeth scraped, words soothed: “Oh, Professor Ackerman,” with a high-pitched whine and breathless sigh, you kneaded his cock in your grip, “wouldn’t you at least consider giving me a D?”

Before he could react - laugh, choke, or even ask himself did I hear that right? - you grabbed his tie and yanked him to your lips. The satin of the accessory and that of his kiss were a perfect match, exactly what you thought when you bought it. The heel of your hand rode the curve of his nape, fists made in his locks, angling him right where you wanted. Black tea and mint in his taste, you longed to sweeten it with your cream. 

The force he matched you with - you believed he wanted that, too. Brows knit in determination, Levi’s tongue began its own expedition down your throat, teeth sandwiched your lip, prying you open for all his desires. Maintaining the kiss, you hastened to strip each other free. 

At an agonizing pace, you undid his buttons and pulled on his zipper. You were either clumsy or sadistic to fumble with him the way you did: scraping over his slit, dragging his precum along his length, making him extra vulnerable to the evening air when you finally unleashed him. Your delicate touch incited the opposite in him: an unwavering speed he undressed you with. Hem of your shirt to your collarbone, your nipples hardened fast in sudden exposure. Bra hooked loose by one hand, neck squeezed by the other. In a handful of seconds, your only coverage was the love marks on your jawline. 

Pulling away from the kiss, you opened your eyes to a completely different person: no longer the calm and collected Professor Ackerman, but his tender alter ego. Bright blush and disheveled hair, polar to his pale complexion and standard gel. Instead of his commanding speech, embarrassing breaths echoed down the hallway. Perfectly pressed clean clothes had turned wrinkled in strife, damp with overstimulated sweat, especially at his middle. 

Levi’s exhales became your inhales as he struggled to regain his breath. Trembling in your arms, he shook his head and sighed, “Is this why you bought me a tie?” And made some crazy excuse to come to work with me today?

A low chuckle, it was your turn to reciprocate the eye roll. With a quick jerk, you swiped the tie out from under his collar. A lazy swing of your new lasso, “Let’s put this thing to real use.”

// masterlist //

[swrancore]

LOVE IS THE NAME

𖦹 how would the tokrev boys show affection to you

𖦹 english isn't my first language

𖦹 sano manjiro, ryuguji ken, baji keisuke, haitani ran, mitsuya takashi, matsuno chifuyu

❍ ⠀ ─⠀꒰⠀SANO MANJIRO⠀꒱⠀!⠀⠀

❥ His way of showing love is with physical affection. He's not afraid to hold your hand as you walk, though he'll say things like «oi, let go of my hand». If you let go, he will look at you with pouting lips, offended by your actions, even if he was the one who released you. In reality you would be expected to resist and hold his hand tighter.

❥ He is seldom cheesy when he speaks, he does not know how to express himself fully and he is totally inexperienced when it comes to having a loving relationship with someone else. At the beginning, your relationship would be based on being almost a Draken two, taking care of him and making him feel pampered; over time he would behave in other ways, going out on an occasional date on his motorcycle or sharing his dorayakis with you (this almost never happens, when he does it is because he is in a too good mood).

❥ Midnight calls. If something like insomnia happens, he will call you without a doubt, he will hear your voice relax him and also, you are his safe place, he will be safe if you manage to comfort him even for three minutes. Mikey will appreciate that very much and will be willing to answer your calls if one day you need him late at night, do not hesitate to talk to him, he will be there for you.

❍ ⠀ ─⠀꒰⠀RYUGUJI KEN⠀꒱⠀!⠀

❥ Actions, he shows his love with actions, indirect demonstrations and behaviors that are out of the ordinary for him, although quite subtle. Not everyone would notice, they had to be very observant because Draken is someone very reserved with his love life.

❥ Subtle caresses on your waist, slipping his hand under your blouse without being too scandalous. Squeeze the area gently, feeling how you tremble at his touch; show a very slight smile with pride when seeing the reactions of your body to a soft caress from him. He loves seeing you that way, vulnerable to him, who would constantly take advantage of his height and body build to intimidate you against the wall of his bedroom, cornering you and grabbing your chin with two of his fingers as he pulls you towards him with a shove. of his hand on your lower back: «You're anxious, aren't you, pretty?» and his breath hits your face. Oh shit, you're so fucking attracted to Draken.

❥ Night walks? Definitely yes, his motorcycle is ready to receive you in the extra seat and his waist is waiting to be surrounded by your arms when he accelerates to take you through the dark streets of Tokyo. He loves those moments of intimacy where they are not necessarily entangled in bed, but make love in different ways and always find something new to share together. Draken loves spending time with you, making space for you in his schedule and answering your call when you need it; you don't bother him at all, never think that.

❍ ⠀ ─⠀꒰⠀BAJI KEISUKE⠀꒱⠀!⠀

❥ He has a somewhat strange way of loving. Keisuke himself is quite an enigma. You don't know sometimes if he is serious or if he is joking, he says things so seriously and then acts as if he hadn't said anything; He has you in limbo between whether his feelings are real or if he is joking, and the truth is that they are real, but he also jokes with them so as not to look ridiculous in case you reject him. He usually has a little romantic ideas to do with you, like wearing bracelets, although he would say that it is very cheesy shit and then at home he would be on the verge of tears because of how happy he is to share something so beautiful with you.

❥ Baji at all times reminds you how proud he is to have you by his side. Rarely do he speak with such seriousness and sincerity, you hardly ever see that side of your boyfriend; when you see him too quiet for a long time and with a lost look, you know that a most beautiful confession will be waiting for you coming out of his lips. He tends to isolate himself from the world around him when he wants to think through what he feels and how to tell you without embarrassing himself in the process. He is a good boyfriend after all, the best.

❥ He'll absentmindedly let you tie his hair in bows, not complaining if you use one of those pink butterfly hair ties to tie it up. When he leaves the house he will take them off, but he will wear them on his wrists. More than once he has tied his hair with them before a fight, causing the enemy to laugh and taking advantage of the distraction to attack with a direct punch to the nose, making him smile proudly. He feels as if a part of you is accompanying him and providing encouragement in the fight, so he gives twice of himself so that you do not have to see him defeated. If the garter were to break, he will mercilessly attack whoever made the butterflies end up on the ground and not in his hair, believe me, he will not have an ounce of mercy.

❍ ⠀ ─⠀꒰⠀HAITANI RAN⠀꒱⠀!⠀

❥ Gifts are his way of showing love. He showers you with gifts and luxuries, even if you don't ask for them, he loves having you as his princess. You want it? You have it, do not hesitate. He would do anything to get all your whims, he is an exemplary boyfriend in that sense.

❥ You will have Ran almost eating in your hands, although he will have you in the same way. You must be a team capable of bringing each other to their knees, he loves to be in control and yet he is willing to give you the power from time to time to take control of the relationship. Trust fully that you will know how to tame him as he likes. He will not hesitate to kneel down to satisfy you and carry out your orders, he is a man open-minded enough for his wife to put a leash around his neck and force him to crawl around her.

❥ He is constantly flirting, there will be no place or time where he doesn't do it. You're his greatest adoration, accept his compliments that are really sincere. He will smile at you and show that confidence of his when you return the compliment. He knows how bad he has you and that with two words he could have you with trembling legs. He loves that about you, being so vulnerable with him and his displays of affection, the way you tremble when his hand caresses you and when he leans close to your ear letting out his most honest thoughts about how crazy you drive him. Ran isn't afraid to tell you with clean words what he thinks or what he wants to do with you. As flirtatious as he is, he's also downright cheeky, make no mistake about it. He will intentionally make you blush because he loves it, even more so because he's the one you blush for and the one who gives you those embarrassed looks. One day he would kill you with so many emotions that it makes you feel in less than two minutes.

❍ ⠀ ─⠀꒰⠀MITSUYA TAKASHI⠀꒱⠀!⠀

❥ A total romantic, you'll be looking forward to casual dates, nothing too formal or fancy. He will find a way to keep you happy and comfortable at his side, enjoying the moment as much as he does. Mitsuya is the kind of boyfriend of words. It won't be overly cloying, just enough to remind you that he loves you too much and thinks of you more than he wants to.

❥ He will make you exclusive outfits, don't hesitate. He loves to surround you with the tape and see your blush when you notice that you're too close while he only excuses himself by making sure that he really takes the correct measurement, he wouldn't want to waste such a pretty fabric. Of course, it would be a lie that only he would know, because in reality he's longing to see you fall into his hands and finally give in to kiss him in a slow and passionate touch.

❥ Obviously he would also take you on his motorcycle to one or another date night, especially on days where you're celebrating something like anniversaries, your birthday, an important date for both of you and things like that.

❍ ⠀ ─⠀꒰⠀MATSUNO CHIFUYU⠀꒱⠀!⠀

❥ Closet romantic. He will have many ideas in his head about dating and couple things that he would love to do with you, and he would be guided by one or another shoujo manga. If you are the romantic kind of girl, he will be happy to carry out your every idea to spend time with you.

❥ Spend a lot of time by your side, caressing your hands, your thighs, your waist, your lips, all of you. When you're alone, especially, he fills you with kisses every so often. He loves kissing you, whether it's on the lips or not, it's something he really likes to do and he wouldn't hesitate to steal a few from you (as long as you don't feel uncomfortable about it). He would also try from time to time to imitate a kiss seen in his favorite manga, although he would end up laughing at how ridiculous he feels, ashamed of himself.

❥ He would fill you with simple gifts, things like accessories for your keychain, a hair tie, an origami, small stuffed animals, pins, stamps, stickers, anything that reminds him of you, he will take it and give it to you adding a «when I saw it, I thought of you».

[metamorphosisff]

|Chapter 15| I’ve Got No Place

“Ms. Cortez, if you can think of anything else that will be helpful for our report, please don’t hesitate to call,” Officer Kelly says, holding a business card with his information in his hand.

I use the hand that isn’t holding an ice pack to my face to take it and stuff it into my pocket. There wasn’t anything else to tell as I already gave them the complete rundown when they got here. My eyes rove over the damage that is luckily contained to the living room and kitchenette as he continues. 

“He has priors and has a bench warrant out for other charges so with this on top? He won’t be bothering you or anyone else for a very long time,” Officer Kelly adds as his partner and a few other uniformed officers wrap up making the mess worse in their process of cataloging what happened. Under their boots are my abuela’s ashes from the urn that was sent crashing into the wall.

I just want them all gone. 

I need them all gone.

I need to process the fact that Trevor really showed his ass this evening and destroyed my home. Violated my space with his rage and my body with his fists, all because I wouldn’t return his advances earlier this morning when I went to the bodega. He waited until I came home from work to follow me into my building. With him hot on my heels there hadn’t been enough time to get inside of my apartment and lock him out. So we argued, then we fought, and I managed to stab him which bought me time to lock myself in the bathroom where I stayed until the police arrived.

Nodding my head, I said, “Good riddance. I appreciate all of your help but if we’re done here, I’d like to call it a night.”

“Oh yes, of course, and if you go to the doctor or urgent care, that bill can be expensed if you decide to take this to trial,” Officer Kelly says.

“Duly noted,” I said.

And ignored.

I wasn’t giving Trevor any more of my time after tonight. Whatever happens to him, happens. Besides Black women seldom found justice in the court system. I couldn’t afford to put myself through that torture just to be left hanging in the end. Finally taking a cue from my body language, Officer Kelly gathers up his fellow officers and one by one they all exit my home. I’m just about to close the door when I hear my name being called out by the voice I wished to hear hours ago. Pulling the door back open, Xavier comes into view looking identical to me.

“What happened to your face?” we ask each other in unison. 

I step back and usher him into my apartment because my neighbors have already gotten one show this evening. I’m so glad that both Mari and Papi went to stay with their cousins for the weekend. I didn’t have to watch them make the face Xavier is while glancing at the carnage in the living room.

“Jamila,” he breathes out, slowly turning back in my direction. “What happened? You were texting me like you were about to…about to commit suicide.”

His eyes are lined with tears and he looks off to the side in order to blink them away in relief. I can see why he thought that because when I was in the bathroom I had been scared. I had thought that Trevor was going to kill me but before he did I wanted to tell Xavier all of the ways he made my life worth living again. I wanted to tell him I loved him. I didn’t want to paint the timeline of a situation that so eerily echoed the cousin he still mourned. 

“No, no, no,” I said, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “No, that’s not why I sent those.”

“Then what happened? Because I was scared shitless on the way over here,” he said, turning to face me again. “And your apartment is…”

The damage is heavy, the weight of it steals the rest of his sentence. I fill in the silence with an explanation. 

“Trevor popped back up. We had some words this morning that he wasn’t too happy with because it ended with me telling him to go to hell,” I said, anger humming underneath the surface of my skin as I relived the argument in my mind.

I start to pace even though my hip throbs in protest from being shoved down onto the coffee table but I need to move. It’s the only way I can get the story out for the second time without letting frustration wash over me.

“Fast forward to tonight and I…I had my headphones on as I was walking home. I didn’t notice that he had been following me until I was only one flight of stairs away from the door,” which was a habit I had been trying to break to avoid a situation like this but today was a long one. I wanted to unwind a bit by listening to my favorite podcast on the train and since the episode was almost finished by the time I got off, I decided to continue listening. I should have listened to my instincts and waited instead.

“The moment I unlocked it, he pushed us both inside. He starts saying how I’m acting like I’m too good for him now and a bunch of other bullshit. I tell him about himself and remind him that he’s not entitled to me. It escalated from there, he slapped and pushed me and I fell. He tried to sit on me but I was still holding my keys which had a knife on it. I stabbed him in the shoulder at the same time I kicked him in the stomach. Then I bolted into the bathroom. Luckily, I had the thought to put my phone into my back pocket. When he couldn’t break down the bathroom door, he went back to destroying the apartment,” I said.

He destroyed photos of my parents, precious moments of time from when they were good to me, gone. He destroyed furniture. He destroyed my laptop. He destroyed food. He destroyed my sense of peace in the only place I could get it. My home. That is what lay in ruin in his wake.

“Baby…I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry this happened to you,” he said, shaking his head while walking towards me. Reaching out, he lightly grabbed my hand and pulled me into his arms. I fell into his embrace because it was needed but a frown formed on my face when he winced the moment I squeezed him.

Stepping back slightly, I said, “Why did you jump? And what happened to your face?”

“Babe we can talk about that later, it’s not important, this is-

“No,” I said, pulling away from him then. “I want to know why you weren’t able to answer my calls. Another incident with Granddad?”

His lip was busted, his left eye bruised and swollen. Those were the bruises I could see but who knew what was going on underneath his t-shirt. Granddad had hit him in the face before so it wasn’t a reach to assume that was the case.

“Nah, I had a boxing match tonight that Aiden set up to help get me out of the funk I’ve been in. That’s why I didn’t answer the phone but when I saw your messages I rushed over here,” he said.

Taking another step back, I shook my head. My ears had to be deceiving me because what he said just wasn’t computing. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? A boxing match?”

“There was no way for me to know tonight would end like this Mila,” he said.

“No, there wasn’t but here I am trying to rationalize that maybe something with granddad came up or your father but no you were out doing this,” I said pointing to his face.

He took a deep breath as he shook his head at me but I didn’t care about his growing frustration. It didn’t surmount mine. 

“You,” I said, pointing a finger at him. “You, you were the one who said ‘call me if anything with him ever goes down again’, that was you. You made it seem like you would be there.”

My eyes are lining with tears faster than I can get under control and they betray me by sliding down my cheeks. He tries to take a step closer but I shake my head, denying him access to my space. I don’t miss the flash of pain that shines through his eyes. I wonder if it matches mine.

“Mila, baby, I am here. Standing right here beside you. I didn’t hesitate to come to you the moment I felt something was off,” he said, but it was like his words were flying around my ears.

I couldn’t resonate with them or find the normal comfort I usually did when he spoke to me. All I found was mounting anger because all I heard was an excuse.

“Two hours later Xavier. While he was in here tearing everything apart, I was reaching out to you,” I sniffled, mad at myself.

This is what happens when you let people in. When you believe they won’t disappoint you like everyone else. A sob tears through my chest causing my shoulders to bounce and I want to scream. Xavier stands stunned, torn between wanting to comfort me and wanting to respect the boundary I’ve drawn. I’m torn too because I want to be in his arms more than anything but I can’t. This kind of disappointment cuts into me like glass, clean and efficiently. 

“Crazy thing is I believed you! I-I-I,” my words were tripping over my sobs but I forced the rest of them out. “I fucking believed that you would actually be there when it counted. When it mattered.”

He took a step back then, the impact of my words pushing him away.Those eyes, those damn eyes, actually had the audacity to look hurt but I don't care. In this moment, my pain trumps his. 

“That’s not fair. I didn’t know what was going on,” he repeats. 

“Yeah and that’s the point,” I sniffled, roughly wiping at my face. “I was locked in the bathroom, scared out of my mind, and I panicked. It was an emergency so I know I should have called 911 first, that’s what we’re all taught to do, but in the moment I called you. I just…”

“If I would have known what was going on don’t you think that I would have been here? That I would have helped you? It kills me that I wasn’t here Jamila and that’s something I have to live with but I’m here now. I’m here,” he says, eyes pleading with me to understand but I don’t want to.

I don’t want to understand. I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to talk anymore because I don’t have the words to express what I’m feeling. My face hurts and my temples are pounding with a headache that is threatening to shut my entire body down. I don’t have the energy to listen to anything Xavier has to say. Not tonight and probably not tomorrow either.

“I think you should go home. I’m good, everything is handled. I don’t need you here,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

He takes a step closer and tries to reach for my hand but I keep them firmly tucked underneath my arms. “Mila, please don’t push me away right now. Baby please don’t do this.”

Tears spill onto my cheeks as I shake my head. “I’m tired Xavier,” I sniffled, trying to control the river flowing from me. There are several rounds of sobs threatening to burst from me and I no longer want an audience. “I’m tired of being an afterthought. I’m tired of being accommodating. I’m tired of always having to figure out how to survive other people’s bullshit. And above all of that? I’m tired of not being listened to. Please don’t make me repeat myself.”

He nods his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets before walking towards me. He stops right in front of my feet and though a part of me doesn’t want to, I meet his eyes anyway. He’s not afraid to show me his tears while I’m fighting through showing him mine. Leaning down, I hold my breath as he places a kiss against my forehead. 

“I love you too Mila. Know that and never forget it. I’m going to call you tomorrow.”

I nod my head but we both know that I won’t answer. He presses another kiss to my forehead and a quick one to the corner of my mouth before slipping through the door. As I lock it, I can’t help but feel as if it might be the last time he ever does. My bottom lip trembles as I sink onto the floor. Weighed down by all of the losses that occurred before I could even catch my breath.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

A small Kansas town is reeling after a baby-faced 23-year-old manipulated procedural technicalities to reinstall himself as mayor in one night, seemingly taking a page from the playbook used by former President Donald Trump after he was voted out of office.

Only, this time, it worked.

“People have said this reminds them of Germany in 1935,” Jeffery Jones, whose bid for a council seat in Goddard, Kansas, collapsed last week as Hunter Larkin abruptly took control, told The Daily Beast. “Like, ‘Hey, we don’t like you anymore and we’re gonna vote you out and put our own person in.’”

The convoluted machinations by which Larkin maneuvered his way back into power were described as “essentially, a coup” and reminiscent of a totalitarian regime, according to one recently departed council member. And while Goddard, a Wichita suburb with a population of just under 5,400, isn’t necessarily going to influence policy shifts on a national scale, the strategy used by Larkin—a right-winger who last year promoted an appearance in Goddard by accused sex pest and conservative kingmaker Matt Schlapp—could serve as a stark warning of what’s possible elsewhere.

“I have to hand it to Larkin,” Wichita Eagle columnist Dion Lefler wrote. “I’ve covered cities for a long time and have seldom seen a political takeover that was this sleazy, and yet this well-orchestrated.”

Larkin’s improbable ascent to office can be traced back to August 2020, when the then-mayor of Goddard stepped down amid a fraud charge for counterfeiting tickets to the local zoo’s “Zoobilee” charity fundraiser. Then-21-year-old City Council President Hunter Larkin was appointed to the job.

In November 2021, Larkin, who by day works as an accounting manager for a fiberglass oil field pipe manufacturer owned by a wealthy local family that has helped fund his political aspirations, was busted for DUI. He later pleaded guilty, receiving a sentence of probation and staying on as mayor until May 2022, when he resigned in the wake of a news report calling his ethics into question. Larkin said he was leaving office to focus on a statehouse run, but kept a seat on the city council.

“This campaign is about giving a voice to the people of our community and defending what so many of us hold dear, like voter integrity, the right to bear arms, protecting the unborn and keeping Critical Race Theory (CRT) out of schools,” Larkin’s campaign website thundered. “As your next Representative, I can promise that I will fight for just that!”

Vice-Mayor Larry Zimmerman was then appointed Goddard’s mayor, and has filled the position since—until last Tuesday night.

The agenda for that evening’s city council meeting didn’t appear particularly unique, at least on the surface; members would, among other things, consider a sign regulation amendment, discuss a road closure request for a Lions Club car show, and appoint a new city councilperson after a councilman named Michael Proctor relinquished his seat on Dec. 31.

Zimmerman nominated Jeffery Jones, who works as a hospice chaplain, for Proctor’s old job.

However, the vote ended in a tie. So Zimmerman instead nominated Aubrey Collins, a radio host and residential solar panel salesman who goes by “Cowboy Rip.” Collins’ candidacy was approved, and he was sworn in.

And, according to Jones, “That’s when everything kind of went haywire.”

As Collins was being seated, Larkin, who lost his bid for the Kansas legislature, immediately moved to amend the agenda and hold a non-public executive session to discuss “unelected personnel.” According to Lefler, the newspaper columnist, Larkin was eager to cast out City Administrator Brian Silcott, who has been critical of him in the past.

At this point, Jones left, thinking the meeting was over.

“Had I known what would happen next, I would have stayed,” he told The Daily Beast. “Because when they came back, that’s when Hunter asked for the election of a new mayor.”

When they returned, Larkin swiftly proposed removing Zimmerman as mayor, a motion which was approved by all except Zimmerman himself. Vice-Mayor Sarah Leland was then installed as mayor of Goddard—briefly. She immediately addressed the others, saying she felt she did not have “the capability to do these job duties… especially the current situation we are dealing with, so I would like to nominate Hunter, as I feel he can complete the steps that need taking.”

And with that, Larkin became mayor, switching seats with Leland, now his second-in-command. Larkin quickly moved to oust Silcott, who he considered a fly in the ointment, prompting now-ex-Mayor Zimmerman to quit his city council seat in protest.

“Before you get to that point, I’d like to tender my resignation from the city council, effective immediately,” he said, and walked out.

The council then filled Zimmerman’s empty council seat with resident Keaton Fish, a support staffer at a local special-ed school. As he took his position, Larkin introduced a motion to terminate Silcott’s employment. They then went to a second closed session to discuss Silcott’s firing, where the decision was consummated. (The next day, Assistant City Administrator Thatcher Moddie resigned.)

“The day and age where unelected bureaucrats ran this town is over,” Larkin later exulted. “This governing body is going to be more involved than ever before.”

This, Jones argued on Friday, is wholly disingenuous.

“Hunter said ‘we’re tired of being run by unelected bureaucrats,’ but I’m like, ‘Well, you’re kind of unelected.’ He was elected as a council member, no one voted him in as mayor [either time]. And right now, there’s a petition out for a recall.”

The recall campaign was started by Proctor, the councilman who quit office on Dec. 31. He called the situation in Goddard “a disaster.”

“He needs to go,” Proctor told The Daily Beast of Larkin, adding that he was baffled by the vice-mayor’s support for his mayoralty.

He said he will need roughly 168 signatures to move the proposal forward, and feels confident he’ll get them.

“Look, there’s complete outrage over this,” he told The Daily Beast. “Getting those votes won’t be difficult, there are plenty of willing participants.”

Proctor has also started a Facebook group called “For Goddard’s Sake,” where he is organizing and rallying support.

“This city is a joke!” one commenter wrote. “in who’s right mind is DUI kid a good choice for mayor after not being re-elected.”

“[H]unter has made it clear that he intends to turn the city into a rental community by helping his developer buddies build as many multi family dwellings as possible,” wrote another. “This is a very clear pattern all in the name of ‘growth’ and it is going to fundamentally change this town. He and his gang now make a majority and will be able to approve whatever Hunter’s little heart desires.”

“So where can concerned citizens file complaints?” wrote a third. “Surely we have a lawyer or three within reach who can help Goddard with its latest problem. Anyone?”

Proctor said he will be filing a report with the sheriff’s office, alleging campaign finance improprieties by Larkin which Proctor claims violate the Goddard city code.

“Somebody’s gotta do it,” he said. “Somebody’s gotta stand up. Otherwise, there’s a vacuum that’s going to be filled by somebody who shouldn’t be doing it.”

Replacing Silcott will also be a heavy lift, according to Proctor, who said Goddard last week “went from a city where up-and-coming city managers would love to come and work, to a bottom-of-the-rung situation, overnight. He’s delivered quite a mess.”

Fish did not respond to a request for comment on Friday. Zimmerman, for his part, told local outlet KWCH that Larkin’s maneuvering “wasn’t right.”

Brady Burdge, an assistant district attorney in Wichita who was in the running for a council seat but withdrew his name on Monday due to his heavy workload, said he found the Larkin situation “really unfortunate.”

“It is definitely troubling,” Burge told The Daily Beast. “The local level is where it all starts, and you definitely don’t like to see things like that happening in your own community… [Larkin] has had trouble in the past building trust with our community, and it looks like it happened again.”

Jones said he is not planning to fight the outcome of the election, and is “just going to let the chips fall where they may.” At the same time, he isn’t going anywhere, anytime soon.

“I feel honored that the mayor at the time selected me, but I’m not going to raise a fuss,” he conceded on Friday. “I told them at that meeting that I want to effect change within Goddard, and if I can't do it from the [city] council, I’ll do it from the community. And I’m going to be there at as many council meetings as I can, where I’ll be bringing up questions that the people want answered.”

For his part, Aubrey Collins said he is looking forward to his first experience serving in public office.

“I have no comment other than, we’re going to do the best we can for the city,” Collins told The Daily Beast. “I believe the steps that were taken will allow Goddard to win. Goddard is gonna win, based on what transpired.”

Before the council session concluded, Larkin remarked, “Today was a tough day. I know. Wasn’t fun, I don’t think anybody here enjoyed it. But I want you all to know it was done out of love.”

Larkin, who told local NBC affiliate KSN TV that he’s not concerned about any challenges to remove him, did not respond to multiple requests for comment by The Daily Beast.

[verlaines-corner-archive]

Verlaine and Rimbaud appearance hcs

 -> Happy creation day Verlaine! I conjured these up and thought it would be fun to share them :]

Verlaine

☆ Face wise Verlaine has a more triangular, sleek face. High cheek bones, and a sharp but not particularly wide jawline. His nose is long with a bump on the bridge before turning up at the end. Feature wise it's all very fox like, you could say. 

☆ Paul has heterochromia, one honey brown eye and one sea blue eye [because canon can't fucking decide what it wants them to be]. They turn upwards slightly at the end and are thin. His pupils aren't circular, protruding in spikes around the edges. They vary in length and almost mimic an explosion. Paul's eyes seldom ever shine, usually remaining focused and sharp, yet distant, always carrying a certain hate and loneliness to them. However with those he cares for [Rimbaud and especially Chuya] they could be described as kind. Post SB they are no longer as hateful but more empty, melancholic [though shine sometimes when visited by Chuya - because fuck canon]. He has a beauty mark under his left eye.

☆ Paul's skin is warm in appearance, carrying a light orange undertone, and it is also quite warm to the touch. There are wrinkles by his eyes and slight bags, and his lips have an upturn at the end - casually he always manages to look amused. He has several scars along his body, including one extending from between his ring finger and middle finger all the way down his forearm to his elbow, along with circular scars on his back from the lab tubes and other smaller ones littering his skin. His skin is otherwise soft, and his nails are filed down. Paul also has several moles, including on just above his right hip and one on his left collarbone.

☆ Posture wise Verlaine stands tall, never slouching or anything like that. He walks fast and with confidence and grace, though sometimes the walking almost comes off as angry. His hair is a honeyed blond and very silky to the touch, falling to just below his mid back when down. It's wavy until the ends in which it’s more curly.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

Rimbaud

☆ If I had to choose one word to describe Rimbaud’s appearance overall it would be gloomy. 

☆ Rimbaud has a more oval face shape but with kind of strong features. A more defined jawline, a slightly hooked roman nose with visible but not high cheekbones. His forehead slants back ever so slightly, his nose extending past his chin a little more than is typically seen. Profile wise he’s somewhat crow like.

☆ Rimbaud's eyes are an almost golden green, though are usually somewhat dark. His eyes are downturned and hooded, always somewhat heavy and tired yet despite that they carry an almost eagle like sharpness - a result of him being a spy. Rimbaud’s eyes have a dull glow to them, however they also hold a hidden tenderness to them, a melancholic gentleness that’s only ever visible when he’s away from prying eyes - whether that be alone or solely with someone he cares for.

☆ His skin is pale, a grey-white with pink undertones, and his cheeks and nose are always flushed due to the cold. He has bags under his eyes and crows feet. Rimbaud’s lips are a pale red and thin, usually kept in a straight line. When he smiles it’s small but loving, and he has dimples. Much like Verlaine he has a few scars on his body, though the most noticeable ones are a gunshot wound on his right hand and a long scar extending from his shoulder blade to his mid-back. His hands are calloused, but the rest of his skin - while extremely cold - is soft and pleasing to the touch.

☆ Rimbaud's posture is usually hunched over, curled in on himself to preserve warmth, however when on a mission he stands tall, confident and determined. He walks fast and never dawdles. His hair is slightly curly and very soft, fluffy though always a little tangled. 

☆ Tl;dr: Dilf

[theresawritesstuff]

Maisel: Always finding excuses to stay with each other

More season 5 fix it ficlet

Ever since he'd gotten back from California, Midge had seldom passed a night without winding up in Lenny's arms. 

It started innocently enough. A drink after her set. A heart to heart.

Another hotel room. 

The walls weren't blue this time but the activities certainly still were.

Another show (his this time). Another drink. 

Her parents were out of town. Joel had the kids.

And so it became another very blue night in a not so blue room.

They went on like this for weeks, pulling out nearly every excuse in the book just as to why they should stay close to one another as the evening drew to a close.

Some schmuck was making a pass at her and not taking the hint.

He was avoiding running into an old dealer.

They needed coffee but not diner coffee.

She was cold.

It looked like rain. Somewhere. Probably.

On and on and on.

The excuse itself hardly mattered. They both knew the real reason they always left together. Always ended the night wrapped up in the other's embrace.

They just weren't brave enough to say it.

Until the night before he had to leave again.

"I've been thinking…" Midge ventured as they lay sated from yet another round in her bed.

Lenny lolled his head over to look at her.

She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "They've got phones in California, right?"

"So I've been told," he replied.

"And planes that travel in both directions."

Lenny propped himself on an elbow, giving her his full attention.

"...Maybe we should use them." She turned hesitantly, meeting his eyes. "It would be tough being on opposite coasts, sure, but we could try…"

"What are you saying, Midge?"

She bit her lip, looking down at the mattress as she summoned all her courage.

"I'm saying I don't want another nebulous goodbye. And as fun as this has been, I need more than just I'll see you when I see you because… I think I'm in love with you, Lenny."

"Which orgasm finally did the trick?" he wondered impishly.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest as she swatted him in reprimand, pulling her in close to himself as he placed a tender kiss to her lips. "I love you, too."

He exhaled a sigh, trailing his fingers lazily along her hairline. 

"You know, I realized something the other night," he admitted quietly.

She looked up into his eyes, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I realized I haven't been arrested once in the time I've been back. Not on any night I thought I might get the pleasure of your company."

"Three whole weeks," she praised teasingly. "Is that a new record for you?"

Lenny chuckled, absently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Something like that."

"And seeing little old me was all it took?" 

She smirked, putting on her best Lenny impression, "So sorry officer. Can't tonight. I've got a hot date later. If you want to book me you'll need to talk to my manager."

"I must be better behaved when properly motivated," he shrugged.

"So I should write you a few blowjob IOUs to keep you out of trouble on the west coast?" she quipped.

"No I–well I mean it wouldn't hurt if you're serious, but what I meant is you're good for me, Midge. Probably too good."

She smiled softly tucking herself against his chest, listening to the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat.

"You should know I've been hopelessly in love with you for quite some time now," he murmured. "Nice knowing it's finally reciprocated."

"Very much so." 

She worried her lip quietly before asking, "You're really up for this? Giving a bi-coastal romance a go?"

Lenny shrugged, holding her a little tighter.

"It won't be so bad. Kitty's school lets out for the summer next month. After that I was thinking we might see how the east coast treats us for a while. There's a place in the village I think I could swing now. We could… I dunno. Take the kids to Coney Island or something. Go to dinner a couple times. See how this works long term."

Midge smiled at the thought. "I'd love that."

"Then it's settled. A month long distance."

"Calling now on the table," she reminded him.

"I think we could manage it."

"There's always letters too if the time difference gets tricky."

Lenny smirked, shifting so that he could kiss her properly again. "I promise to pen you the most salacious notes to ever grace your mailbox."

She felt herself grin, resting her forehead to his. "Can't wait."

[foxthebeekeeper]

Long time no post! How is everyone??? I moved!

The bees are *mostly* alright based on my most recent “checkup” and I’m only down one and a half colonies that I knew were already weak. One of them I suspect was taken out due to a leak in the lid that made the wood damp and less insulating. They must have left very early in the season because the bottom of the hive was FULL of wax moth cocoons and eggs and cockroach poop and all kinds of nastiness. I scraped it out and didn’t see any sign of lasting mold on the wood though so it mustn’t have been too damp.

The other four langs are doing just dandy as well. All have enough bees in them to show activity at 50f and overcast so they’re apparently healthy. Already bringing in pollen too!

The super hive seems to be doing incredibly well also! They have propolized up the front of the hive in what I can only presume is an effort to manage air flow and the openness of the entrance. Since I seldom ever check the front 10 frames I suppose that’s alright, though if they are to abscond it will be a chore to get those frames out.

As mentioned, I did move! The bees are still at my old bee yard, but my new place has a nice open yard that I can put them in so I’ll be moving them soon hopefully. I’m setting up bee benches according to a guide I found on YouTube that is all metal and can be adjusted/moved as necessary, because the yard is unlevel everywhere. I tested several positions on each side with my full weight and they seem to hold up quite well. Though I think I may need to adjust some of them because I may have overdone the forward slope a bit. You can really see how uneven the yard is, since the benches are level.

[whump-cravings]

TR3 - Invitation

Masterlist

~750 words | Original Work

Content: the girls are fightinnnng (no warnings, just Dreth managing to be the biggest asshole in a critical blunder that means no one comes out of this happy)

A knock pulled Baltar away from the nearly-full trunk. He opened up the door to find Dreth standing there, which wasn't wholly unexpected, but he was a little surprised. "General," he said, erring on the side of caution even though it seemed the hall was empty. "Good afternoon. I was just packing. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering," Dreth began. "Ah. Hoping..."

It was seldom that Dreth found himself fumbling for words, which piqued Baltar's attention. The general cast a look down the hallway, then said, "May I come in?"

Baltar stepped back and gestured the man in. It was the first time Dreth had been in this room, now that Baltar thought about it, which seemed strange.

The general shut the door behind himself, then straightened as he turned to Baltar. "I would be honored if you would accompany me to Vall as my beau."

Surprised, Baltar met Dreth's hopeful gaze. Beau? Go with him? Dreth... felt that way about him?

As he broke eye contact and busied his hands with folding the last shirts in his wardrobe, emotions stirred in the prince, mainly confusion and a bittersweet regret. Being with Dreth hadn't been bad, but he was eager to return to his own interests.

Shutting the trunk, he shook his head. "We d-don't... have that kind of relationship, Dreth."

Dreth was silent. Then he slipped something from inside his jacket, holding it out: a vellum scroll tied with a bright blue silk ribbon, bearing Delravi's seal.

Baltar's heart sank. No. He made no motion to take the missive, hands clenching. That's not fair.

Sighing, Dreth pulled the ribbon free and cracked the seal. Baltar closed his eyes, turning his head to the side. Clearing his throat, the general read,

"To His Royal Highness Prince Baltar Nitasi of Ironda, Loyal Vassal of Vall,

"Your presence is hereby formally requested at the Court of Vall. Your travel arrangements and escort will be provided by General Ohlar Dreth of their majesties Delravi's Royal Army. We look forward to your arrival.

"His Royal Excellence, King Davil Delravi."

Tense silence hung between the two men as those words hung in the air. Baltar fought to maintain his composure, eyes stinging, jaw working. He should have expected something like this, and yet. It wouldn't have been so bad had Dreth issued the official summons first, then asked his question. Maybe Baltar's answer would have been different. But to have hope, even for matters as inconsequential as his personal desires, offered and then yanked away with this 'request' in the next moment was a slap in the face. And how long had he been sitting on these orders, letting Baltar think his freedom was nigh?

"Next t-time," Baltar finally managed, voice low, "don't frame it like a choice."

Dreth had the decency to look abashed, eyes down.

Baltar nodded slowly, unsure how to handle the anger in his chest. "Might I be allowed to see my siblings before I go?"

The general nodded, briefly meeting his eye. "Of course."

Will it be the last time I see them? he wanted to ask, but wasn't sure he could handle the answer.

"I believe our arrangement i-is at an end," he said instead, terse. "Considering." Until the letter, it had been up to Dreth to choose how to keep the Nitasi family in line. But now Baltar had been designated an official hostage by their masters; his situation was no longer an informal deal contingent on providing additional services.

"...I suppose that's correct," Dreth agreed reluctantly.

You don't get to toy with me like that and still get to fuck me, Baltar thought bitterly. "Is there anything else that requires my attention, General?" When Dreth gave a shake of the head, he continued, "Then, if you would be so kind, see yourself out. I have many things to prepare."

"Baltar..."

"I would thank you not to forget my title in the future."

Dreth's lips pressed in a line. "My apologies, your highness." With a curt bow, too precise to be mocking, he said, "Please be prepared to set out on the morrow. I'll leave you to your preparations." He softly set the Delravi's missive on the writing desk as he left.

Baltar stood still for many moments afterward, like he could avert the storm of emotions swelling in him by remaining motionless. But it found him anyways, wrapping mighty jaws around his throat. He sat down hard on the trunk, dropping his head into his hands as tears began to fall.

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps @whumpy-writings @nicolepascaline @i-can-even-burn-salad @dont-touch-my-soup @annablogsposts @melennui @thecyrulik @spookyceph